


Movie Night

by crush (beekeepercain)



Series: In Fewer Words [23]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Gen, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4987036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/crush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Movie Night

* * *

 

Sam’s too old for this. He’s turning 13, he should be - should be more like a man by now, not only for Dad but for Dean, too. It’s something about the weather, the chilling rain tapping against pitch black windows and the stretch that makes him feel hollow and anxious, almost as if he’s so trapped in it that believing the sun will ever rise again is impossible. He  _knows_  better, he’s not stupid, but it doesn’t ease his nerves now, the tilting of his reality, the  _something_  that gnaws at his insides and makes him breathe faster, shallower. His fingertips feel cold and he has a lump inside his throat as he slips out of his bed and starts crossing the room towards the only source of light in the room. The TV is on, some black and white movie on it, he doesn’t spare it much attention. What he’s looking at is the top of Dean’s head, barely visible over the back of the couch.

He slips onto the couch like a shadow, feeling invisible like the night is swallowing him, like he’s slowly melting into the scenery of darkness. His palms slip between his legs, lean into the fabric of the couch and he rests his weight on them, shoulders tense and up and head down, eyes staring at his bony knees and his toes that look too long for his feet. Dean’s eyes are upon him, a concerned look in them; he doesn’t have to look to know it. 

His brother stirs. Dean climbs up from his collapsed pose, gathers his weight off from his elbow leaning to the armrest and places it around his hips again. The movie goes on, but neither of them is watching.

“I thought you were sleeping, Sam.”

It’s not an accusation. Dean already knows something’s wrong, and it pisses Sam off. He doesn’t want to be weak.  
“Yeah, well, ‘m not,” he mutters, voice betraying the annoyance that flared up.

He’s desperate. Any light would be better than this darkness. He’s not afraid of it - he can’t be afraid of the dark. Timidly, he glances at Dean: to his relief, the older brother has his eyes on the TV even though he looks like he’s not really seeing it. He’s so big, body defined by clear-cut muscles even underneath his t-shirt, he’s tall and wide and strong-looking. Sam’s barely a twig in comparison to him. Small, slender, with bits and pieces of him looking like they don’t belong to him. Too thin, too long for his small body. He’s awkward. Dean is… Dean is  _not_.

Sam swallows. His pride sinks down with saliva, nestles in the pit of his stomach and begins to die. When Dean looks at him again, he’s moving, curling his small form against Dean’s warm and big, right underneath his arm, for comfort and safety and relief. He could as well  _be_  the sun. Sam’s too old for this, but Dean doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t mock him, just lands his arm around him and pulls him closer, a firm hold around Sam’s shoulders to keep him steady where he is.

“Kinda glad, actually,” he says in a soft voice, “Didn’t feel like watching this movie alone either.”


End file.
